


False-Hearted

by its_banannaz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Magic, Drama, Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fanon, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Smut, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I make no promises about how this will end, Multi, Seduction to the Dark Side, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-25 16:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30092172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_banannaz/pseuds/its_banannaz
Summary: I'm in the process of outlining this story but just know it involves a completely different version of Hermione...just a warning haha. It's a work in progress but I'll update the summary and tags as I go!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	1. pride, disappointment, & friendships

**Author's Note:**

> If you read my other fic - Playing with Fire - you know I love a good fic playlist <3
> 
> Here's the one I made for False-Hearted:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/71luxmR81KWPaprIpcTzGi?si=x5Cwtz-wT5eZ2jL3h08SUQ

_Make allies, Draco. A lesson for now and always._ His father had practically drilled it into his brain.

It was nerve wracking enough - arriving at Hogwarts for the very first time. He had spent all summer whizzing around on the new broom his father got him. _Only the best for Malfoy's, Draco,_ Lucius had said to him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

He had looked forward to getting there. For years. Looked forward to being sorted into Slytherin and making his father proud - that was all Draco ever wanted. And that day was finally here. Narcissa had helped him smooth his hair down - firm and clean. _Like a Malfoy._ Pristine, not a hair out of place. _Like a Malfoy._

 _Draco, my love, I'm going to miss you terribly_ , his mother had said with delicate tears glossing over her sapphire eyes. His father's were more grey, he had always noticed. Almost lifeless. They matched the washed out cobblestones that wrapped around the side of Malfoy Manor. He could never quite decide who's eyes he had gotten - his mother's or father's. It seemed to vary on a regular basis.

Lucius straightened Draco's robes, going so far as to cast a charm and wick away any lint or fuzz. _Like a Malfoy._

Lucius, as well as Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle, had arranged for all of their sons to be friends. It was funny, Draco thought to himself. He always thought friends were supposed to be made, not assigned, but he was just a boy who trusted his father. And so the three of them were best friends - a title for appearances at best. For their father's. All they truly had in common was one thing - pureblood lineage.

 _Now Draco, be warned. There will be_ \- Lucius's face was encompassed with a scowl, the left corner of his upper lip twisting with disdain - _mudbloods. Stay away. They are absolutely not to be interacted with. Malfoy's are purebloods, we are genetically and historically superior. Understand?_ The words echoed in his Draco's even now.

He nodded, listening intently to his father's words the entire time. He wasn't sure what the difference was between purebloods and mudbloods. Did mudbloods have blood that looked like...like mud? He was only 11. What a shame for there to be magical folk with mud in their veins. It sounded terribly painful. He pitied them.

"Father", Draco began, staring down at his shiny new shoes.

"Look at me when you speak _child_ ", his father hissed at him and his eyes shot up quickly. "Don't ever force me to say that again. Don't show weakness. _Malfoy's_ don't _have_ weaknesses."

Draco nodded eagerly at his father. "What happens if I...If I don't...if I don't get sorted into...", he trailed off, cheeks growing pink. He struggled to keep his eyes on his father's piercing and frigid ones. Lucius's gaze never failed to paralyze him.

Lucius gripped the boy's collar tightly but plastered a faux smile on his grin for the sake of the other wizarding families around them preparing to send their children off on the Hogwarts Express. The man pretended to straighten Draco's tie. "Do not stutter, do not hesitate. _No weakness, Draco. None. Ever._ Speak your mind without dithering, you'll only make a fool of yourself. Out with it", he demanded with a clench of his jaw.

The blonde boy cleared his throat nervously, stretching and curling his fingers in hopes of alleviating the anxiety that coursed through him. _Can't disappoint father, I'm a Malfoy. Can't disappoint him. Don't stutter...don't..don't hesitate...look at someone when you speak to them..._

His father tensed tremendously at the hesitation. What had he said? Had he told him not to hesitate? Yes, he had. Draco was sure of it, but his mind wandered as it overanalyzed his father's reprimanding words.

Lucius would have slapped him by now if they weren't in a public place. Draco knew this. Narcissa knew this. As sure as the sky was blue and thestrals could fly. It was true.

"What happens if I don't get sorted into Slytherin?", Draco finally mustered the courage as his palms perspirated severely. He bit into his cheek discreetly to avoid showing fear. He had learned that lesson from his father the hard way like many other things.

Lucius slanted his eyes at him and smoothed his hair back where he towered over him - taking advantage of the same scare tactics Abraxas Malfoy had used on him when he was Draco's age. It was tradition. It was the Malfoy way, and it worked.

"That isn't an option", his father replied with a tight, artificial grin, which was clear from the lack of crinkling near his eyes and the way the corners of his lips barely turned upwards. _Appearances are vital, Draco,_ he would remind his son constantly.

Lucius patted his son's back firmly without another word. Draco turned his eyes upwards to his mother who stood, pity filling his features, but all he saw was the love she held for him. Had showered him with for as long as he remembered. His parents were complete opposites in all things but blood purity. Just like Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. But according to his father, that was simply the way the world worked.

Narcissa knelt down until she was eye level with her son and scooped him into a warm, reassuring hug. "Don't worry, my dear", she whispered, rubbing circles into his back soothingly. "I love you. Be sure to owl at least once a week, alright?"

She smiled. A genuine one, unlike his father. One that reached the sides of her eyes and warmed her cheeks. Draco looked just like his father, which he was quite proud of, but his mother was incomparably beautiful.

Lucius had shoulder length, silver-blonde hair that matched his stone-cold eyes a little too closely. He was the same exact person on the outside as he was on the inside. His features were pointy and sharp, as if they could slice into you with the ease of a knife. His lips were thin, pale, and almost always chapped. He only ever wore black, with smatterings of green on occasion, and had an affinity for wearing several rings, all of which held an obscene monetary value. _Appearances are vital, Draco_ , he remembered his father saying. One day, he would wear rings like that, just like his father.

Narcissa on the other hand, she had a glow. Her long blonde hair was more pigmented than Lucius and Draco's were. It was pale, but soft and warm like washed out sunlight. Her features were exaggeratingly delicate and fragile in comparison to her husband's. She was, after all, from the Black family, who were known for being exceedingly beautiful, which made since considering they were one of the _less_ inbred families of the sacred twenty-eight.

Draco nodded into his mother's shoulder, trying to ignore the dread he felt about leaving his mother. Her hair smelled of honey and vanilla. Like home. His father had never hugged him, so he had no clue what he smelled like. He didn't particularly care to know any way. He imagined his father smelling like metal and alcohol. Disconnected. Overbearing and off putting. Entirely unappealing. Bitter.

He began to walk away sadly but lifted his shoulders before his father could scold him for slouching.

"Draco", Lucius said, and he turned to look back at his father, hope filling his chest. _He's going to say goodbye...maybe not 'I love you', no, he doesn't say things like that, not even to mother. But he's going to say goodbye, I'm sure of it. Maybe even give me a handshake. I just want him to be proud of me._

"Remember what I said about the Potter boy", he drawled, a slight threat in his voice. Draco fought, very hard, not to let his chest deflate with disappointment . He nodded curtly before swiveling on his heel and setting off to locate Crabbe and Goyle. He blinked rapidly to get rid of his tears. _He didn't even say goodbye. He isn't proud of me._

<>

The train ride wasn't as dreadful as Draco had anticipated. It was actually quite enjoyable. Crabbe and Goyle weren't terrible company by any means. They couldn't have any remnants of serious conversation - they weren't very bright - but they made Draco laugh quite a bit.

Crabbe inspected his new collectible card with chocolate smudged on the side of his mouth. He sighed heavily.

"Who'd you get", Draco asked as he popped a pepper imp into his mouth.

"Dumbledore, _again_ ", Crabbe responded.

"I'm convinced that's the only card in those bloody things", Goyle responded as he proceeded to drop pumpkin pasty crumbs across his lap and the floor. Draco chuckled. _Father doesn't like Dumbledore, so neither do I._ He had no other reason to dislike the Headmaster of Hogwarts, but he did because of Lucius. _Have to make him proud._

"Father says he _despises_ Slytherins", Draco said, eating another pepper imp. The cinnamon lingered on his tongue. They were his favorite, but he didn't get to have them often.

"What'd you expect? He was a Gryffindor", Goyle snickered, wiping the crumbs from his lap but rubbing pumpkin filling stains into the material of his trousers in the process.

"Where do you think Potter will go? I heard he's here on the train and everything!", Crabbe said, clearly hoping the 'boy who lived' would be sorted into Slytherin.

"Well surely you don't think he'd be one of us", Goyle responded, obnoxiously stuffing his mouth with snacks as he spoke.

"You never know. No one has heard anything about him in years. It's probably all over the news now if he's really here though", Draco said, glancing out the window at the rolling green hills and fields.

"My father says there's no way in _hell_ he'd be a Slytherin. I mean c'mon, he defeated You-Know-Who as a _baby_. Don't you think that sums up who he is? A 'hero' from the time he was a _baby_ ", he emphasized again with hand gestures and a roll of his eyes.

"Well no one knows the full story, right? It's not as if there were witnesses", Draco said, looking at the other boy curiously.

"I just thought it'd be cool to have another famous Slytherin, y'know?", Crabbe said with a shrug before focusing on unwrapping yet _another_ chocolate frog.

"We aren't Slytherins _yet_ ", I pointed out with slight annoyance. _How are they not worried? It's not as if it's just a given...it's up to the bloody hat...although father did say purebloods are a shoo in for Slytherin..._

Crabbe and Goyle both turned to him and laughed. Loud and obnoxious, making his ears grow hot.

"And what _exactly_ do the two of you think you're laughing at?", Draco asked with an assertive snap, mimicking the tone he had heard from his father so many times.

Both boys turned red-faced, clearly not expecting Draco's overt reaction. He fought the grin that threatened to spread across his cheeks. _That felt good._

"Sorry, Malfoy...it's just...we're purebloods. Isn't that all it takes?", Crabbe asked dumbly, looking almost hurt. But they had hurt Draco's pride with their laughter. _I shouldn't be sorry. I'm a Malfoy._

"It would do the two of you well not to make assumptions. Bloodlines can ensure _purity_ but not _ambition_ or _cunningness_ ", Draco stated in a condescending tone. He added a false chuckle to loosen the tension. He wasn't sure where this reaction had stemmed from...he had never been the type to lose his temper. Draco had never had much of a temper at all really. But there was a first time for everybody.

Crabbe and Goyle laughed nervously back, testing the waters, observing. The tension from their shoulders eased. It didn't take long for the conversation to redirect and become less heated, and before they knew it, night had fallen and they finally arrived. Hogwarts. _Finally._ _Maybe I'll make some friends that aren't so arrogant. So ignorant. So painfully privileged and oblivious._

These descriptions applied to Draco as well, he knew it. He was well aware of what he had. What he had been born into. But he had never before rubbed it in anyone's face. Never needed to or wanted to. Suffice to say, it bothered him that Crabbe and Goyle acted and spoke the way they did. Even _thought_ the way they did.

<>

As they climbed the steps, the mass group of first years was instructed to wait there before entering the hall. An elderly woman with large, bulging eyes, spectacles, and a crooked witch's hat stood at the front waiting. And that was when he saw him.

Harry Potter. The scar on his forehead peeked out from underneath his dark hair and he was flanked on either side by a redheaded boy and a brunette girl. _Perfect._

 _Before you get sorted. That's when you need to find and speak with him. I suspect that he could be useful...powerful,_ Lucius had told his son all summer.

"Useful? Powerful?", Draco asked, not really sure what his father meant or why it mattered.

Lucius shook his head dismissively. "Nevermind that. Befriend him - _before_ the sorting. Unless, of course, if my suspicions are false...", he trailed off in thought. Draco didn't dare ask about it again.

Draco was no Gryffindor, no, not at all. Nor did he want to be. But he gathered his bravery nonetheless before stepping forward.

"So it's true, then. What they're saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts", he stated boldly. He needed to get his attention. Make an impression. Befriend him.

The room had gone quiet when he spoke but now filled with murmurs that echoed across the stone walls.

"This is Crabbe", he said gesturing to his left, "and Goyle", he gestured to his right.

"Actually... _I'm_ Goyle", the boy on Draco's left whispered, but he dismissed it with a wave of his hand and shushed him.

"And I'm Malfoy. _Draco_ Malfoy", he said, giving him a smile, trying his best to be friendly.

The redhead snickered and Draco felt his entire body heat in embarrassment. Why was everyone laughing at him? He sized the boy up, knowing exactly what his father would do in the situation.

"Think my name's funny, do you? Well, no need to ask yours. Red hair, and a _hand-me-down_ robe? You must be a _Weasley_ ", he said with a bitter taste in his mouth at his own words. It wasn't his fault. The boy laughed at him first, so he fired back. Just like his father would.

The redhead cowered slightly, ducking his head into his robes like a turtle and looking thoroughly embarrassed.

Draco redirected his attention to Potter now, leveling his gaze on the boys green eyes and oversized, round glasses. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there", he told him, reaching his hand out to offer a handshake. To offer his friendship.

Harry narrowed his eyes and scowled at Draco, looking first to his outreached hand and then back to his face. "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks", he said coldly, and it hurt. Hurt like a bitch. The first time Draco had ever tried to make a new friend without his father forcing it, and he was instantly rejected.

_Where did I go wrong? I was...I'm...I'm just trying to help. Father is going to be furious. I can't even make a friend for myself. I'm so worthless. Just like father always says. He's right. I can't do anything right._

The entire room was silent and he was mortified, but he didn't show it. He knew how not to. Had perfected that at least.

Potter turned his back on Draco and the redhead hesitantly turned to speak to his friend. _Friend. Merlin, what did I say? How has this so quickly failed irrevocably?_

But the brunette. She hadn't spoken or even moved really. She didn't look nervous, no, she was looking him over. _Scrutinizing_ him. He breathed deeply to prevent his cheeks from turning red. She was...she was...

He couldn't decide. He hadn't ever truly noticed girls, not really anyway. He was 11. But she was...well, despite the rats nest of curls that was her hair, she was quite pretty. Not in an over-the-top, 'give me attention' way. She wasn't like that, he could tell.

Her stance was defensive as she stood with her arms crossed, a book held under them. _Hogwarts: A History_ \- one of Draco's favorites. He had read it over and over leading up to his departure for the school. She clearly wasn't concerned with her appearance.

Not that he cared...but he liked it. Like that she didn't seem to be _presenting_ herself. She wasn't drawing attention. She didn't ask for or want it as far as he could tell. She was just there. Like turning over a rock and finding a diamond there. A diamond with ink smudges on her nose, but a diamond nonetheless.

Her eyes were warm and deep, like diving into a mug of hot chocolate at Christmas. Her hair - frazzled - but if she took care of it, he could tell it would be quite lovely. He wanted to see it even. Her lips appeared soft and slightly rosy, but a natural shade. Not a ridiculous, unnatural color like girls wore sometimes.

A small dusting of freckles ran across her nose and cheek bones. They were barely noticeable if you weren't paying close attention, but they looked like constellations across her olive-toned skin.

He had been staring. He had _stared._ And got very much lost in his thoughts while doing so.

But she was staring too. Draco hadn't been managing his own expression, but he hoped he hadn't given away so easily that he fancied her. Because she didn't look interested at _all._

If anything, she looked disgusted. Her eyes were narrowed on him and she appeared to be biting into her cheek. After shamelessly getting an eye-full, the girl turned around and stood next to Potter, joining his conversation with Weasley.

He had butterflies. He felt fucking ridiculous. He was a boy. Boys didn't get butterflies. Boys didn't fancy girls at his age and feel so bloody nervous about it. But it was worse, because she appeared to loathe him, and they hadn't even exchanged words. He didn't know who she was. Didn't even know her name. And he _still_ didn't understand what he had done to deserve this.

It hurt. Every bit of it. From his father not even saying goodbye, to Crabbe and Goyle's laughter, to Weasley's laughter, to Potter's rejection, to the brown-haired girl's scrutiny.

This definitely wasn't how he imagined his first day of Hogwarts going.

<>

After the older witch - Professor McGonagall - gave a long speech about how the houses work, what they were, and anything that he was sure was primarily for the benefit of muggle-borns who didn't know how this all worked, they were ushered into the great hall.

It was magnificent. Candles floated in the air, filling the room that spanned for what felt like a mile with its lengthy tables and all the professors seated facing them on the other side. Draco looked up to the ceiling, finding the night sky there, and it was perfectly accurate. _Incredibly_ accurate. He would have been certain there was simply a hole in the ceiling and that it _was_ the night sky if he hadn't known better.

One by one, students were called up by Professor McGonagall to sit on the stool and be sorted by the singing, talking, _one hat show._ But he was excited and nervous and his stomach was filled with it.

She went through the list alphabetically, meaning the girl was sorted before him. Crabbe and Goyle had both already been sorted into Slytherin when it was her turn, leaving him standing there, and he couldn't help but watch and listen as intently as he could.

_Hermione Granger. With Hogwarts: A History under her arm, and ratty curls, and warm eyes._

She looked terribly nervous. More so than others, and that was when he realized it. He didn't recognize her last name at all. She was clearly eager to learn any and everything about the school. He could see her muttering to the hat as it deliberated where to place her. She was muggleborn. _Mudblood_ , he corrected himself. Was her blood different? His curiosity spiked.

She seemed to be passionately against the hat's initial decision, shaking her head nervously and fiddling with her fingers as the entire school watched and waited. Until...

"Gryffindor!", the hat shouted, and the table full of red on the far right erupted into cheers for their new addition. Granger looked relieved. _Thoroughly_ relieved. He wondered what the hat had considered putting her in that she was so strongly against.

It was his turn. "Draco Malfoy", Professor McGonagall called him up. He mustered a grin in hopes of hiding his anxiety.

 _Cunning, ambitious, pureblood, a Malfoy._ He repeated these things over and over in his head before the hat was even placed upon his head, and it barely touched a single blonde hair there before it called out, "Slytherin!"

The far left table of deep green cheered loudly as he made his way over to meet Crabbe and Goyle, feeling insanely relieved. It was then he realized just how fearful he had been. Palms sweating and heart racing. He was _relieved. So relieved._

All was not lost yet. His father would be pleased that he was sorted into Slytherin, but thoroughly disappointed that he failed to acquire a friendship with Potter. But there could still be an opportunity if...

Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor - no surprise there. All the Weasleys were, and the house colors clashed heavily with their traffic cone colored hair.

But there was still a chance to recover and reach out to Potter one more time, fix his mistake somehow if...

"Harry Potter", Professor McGonagall beckoned and the hall went eerily quiet as all the focus was intently directed on the boy who lived.

He sat, and the hat considered and reconsidered for what felt like minutes. The hat had barely even thought about where to put Draco, as if it wasn't even a question.

The entire room was dead silent. They were waiting, and waiting, and waiting. It was painful. And then finally-

"Gryffindor!", the hat shouted, and Potter's new house members filled the hall with ear-shattering cheers of excitement. His heart sank. There would be no recovering.

His father would be disappointed. He knew he should be worried. He _was_ worried. But he couldn't stop himself from being much more interested in the Granger girl.


	2. misplacements, muggleborns, & letters

Hermione's heart pounded in her ears as she sat on the stool waiting to be sorted. She had long memorized the houses by then - she had done so the day she got her Hogwarts letter.

Being muggleborn in the wizarding world was like the worst culture shock imaginable, but she wasn't about to let that get in her way.

Even in regular school, she always had the highest grades. The other children would pull her hair, make fun of her for being a know-it-all, shove her books out of her arms...she was more than happy to be away from that.

 _This will be different._ She affirmed it over and over in her head as she awaited the sorting hat's decision.

_Ravenclaw. Wisdom, wit, intellect. I'll likely be a Ravenclaw. Yes, that seems the most fitting._

_Sure, I'm hardworking and patient, but I'm no Hufflepuff._

_I'm ambitious and resourceful, but Slytherins seem to get a bad rap around here, and that's the last thing I need..._

_I'm brave, I can be chivalrous, but it's not like anyone has ever helped me, so Gryffindor isn't likely. Although I wouldn't be against it._

"Very difficult, indeed", the hat muttered in a puzzled tone that only Hermione's ears could register.

_Understandable, but I'm a Ravenclaw. There's no doubt - it makes the most sense._

"It isn't always about sense, but rather about where someone holds the most potential. My young witch, I do believe...", the hat trailed off and the hall was painfully silent as they waited.

_Yes, Ravenclaw, I know. So get on with it, please._

The hat chuckled deviously before shouting in a voice that echoed around the Great Hall, "Gryffindor!"

Hermione fought back her puzzled, and slightly disappointed expression. _Aren't I too smart? Too witty? Too clever? What did that bloody hat mean by potential? How could I possibly hold the most potential as a Gryffindor?_

Sure, she felt relieved. But it was mostly because she was finally done sitting in front of the entire student body with their eyes trained on her. Her shoulders finally relaxed, but the twinge of disappointment with her sorting remained.

Hermione's thoughts were drowned out by the applause and cheers that erupted from the table of red and gold. She looked around, unsure of where to even sit. She felt overwhelmingly like a stray puzzle piece that was thrown into the wrong box.

Her eyes met the two boys she had spent the train ride with and they gave her a smile of reassurance - Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. One a pureblood, one a half-blood. They both looked extremely nervous, and the redhead seemed to be practically shaking where he stood. Neither of them had been sorted yet.

Ron was from a large family - all Gryffindors. Harry was an orphan, and as she had learned over the summer, was extremely famous. But she tried her hardest not to attack him with all the questions that swam through her head.

Hermione wanted nothing more than to pick Harry's brain, to see if he remembered _anything_ from that night with the Dark Lord. But she knew he already felt overwhelmed by everything. By all the attention he was getting from quite literally everyone in the school. Including the teachers.

Once she took a seat next to the tall set of redheaded twins, who were clearly and undeniably related to Ron, her eyes met his. The blonde's. The one with ridiculous slicked back hair and chillingly light eyes.

He quickly turned his head, tilting his chin up arrogantly. She couldn't stop herself from scoffing. Day one, and she had already found someone to despise, and he clearly seemed to feel the same way, though she couldn't comprehend why.

They hadn't even exchanged words - he had approached Harry, and had come off entirely full of himself. It disgusted her. Disgusted her in a way that made her clench her fists and scrunch up her nose as if she smelled spoiled milk.

But he seemed to make that same face naturally. Just another thing that rubbed her the wrong way.

Self-consciously rubbing her hands over her hair, Hermione tried her best to flatten the frizzy mess that she would've given anything to replace. Straight hair. Curly hair. Wavy hair. Anything but her wasp's nest of a mane.

She tried to braid it the night before in hopes that it would be smooth and pretty, but her mother quickly took a brush to it before they departed for King's Cross Station. All for nothing.

Hermione didn't want to care about her appearance, but she supposed it was just part of being a girl. She tried to convince herself of it at least. If anything, she made a valiant effort to convince people she didn't care at all out of spite, especially after all the teasing and tormenting she had experienced.

She was lost in her thoughts and before she knew it, Harry and Ron were taking the seats across from her looking ecstatic with their placement.

But she couldn't help but notice when Draco Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin before either Harry or Ron had been sorted. The blonde seemed pleased, and rather unsurprised really at his new house. As if it was a given that he would be there.

She fought the urge to snort at her observation - Slytherins didn't have a great reputation there, Draco Malfoy was proud to be a Slytherin, and he was possibly the most arrogant person she had ever met. It was all too fitting. Maybe the sorting hat knew what it was doing after all.

<>

As the years went by, Hermione found herself...disappointed. She loved magic. And Merlin, did she _love_ being a witch. She loved Hogwarts. She loved her head of house, Professor McGonagall. But she didn't love her friends.

They all referred to each other as "friends", but Hermione treaded lightly. Sure, they let her sit with them at mealtimes in the Great Hall, but other than that, their only interest in her seemed to be when it came to schoolwork.

Hermione was top of her class - she wouldn't tolerate any less. She worked for it and deserved it, and she was bloody proud of it. _I deserve that much._

She even helped Harry get into the Chamber of Secrets. Godric knows they wouldn't have made it past the Devil's Snare without her. And that was only the tip of the iceberg.

A thank you would suffice, but she didn't even get that. What did Hermione get? A pat on the back, some points for her house, and a simple "you're brilliant" from Ron.

It would've been a kind compliment if he didn't say as many cruel things behind her back as he did. He had no clue that Hermione knew what he would say about her.

"She's mad, that one", Ron would say before him and Harry were even 10 feet away from Hermione. His voice echoed in her head, every insult, every rude comment about her hair. It remained loud and clear in her ears.

But she wasn't confrontational, not yet. Not most of the time. It would take a lot for her to break because Hermione knew she was stronger than that. The words may get to her, but the last thing she'd ever do would be to let that on. To let it be known. _Absolutely not._

In third year when Malfoy's comments went too far, she punched him in the face, and it was glorious. Liberating wouldn't even do justice for the feeling Hermione got from it. Harry and Ron had been proud of her, but little did they know that Hermione wanted to take hold of that boldness and punch them in the face as well.

Every time she looked at them, every time they asked for help with school, every time they went on another adventure where she saved their asses, all she could hear was, "I mean _Merlin_ Harry, does she own a brush?" and "Ron don't be rude, she can't help that her hair is hideous. Besides, she's quite clever and we aren't doing so well in classes".

She constantly felt used. To the rest of the school, they were the Golden Trio. Practically family. She spent several occasions at the Burrow with Harry, Ron, and the Weasleys who welcomed her with open arms. But they always underestimated her.

"Brightest witch of her age", they'd say with a surprised expression every time she did something that warranted that comment. As if it was a shock that a muggleborn could get the highest marks. As if it was a shock that a _witch_ \- not a wizard - could be the smartest and most talented in the school.

No matter what she did, what grades she made, how much she topped anyone, it was never enough. All anyone seemed to care about was Harry, purebloods, and girls who were pretty. Girls whose hair didn't look like Hermione's.

By the time she reached fourth year, she had learned a permanent charm that tamed her hair, and she was almost furious that she hadn't learned it years before. It was unbelievable. No one even noticed until Viktor Krum asked her to be his date at the Yule Ball. Suddenly Ron was _interested_. Suddenly people _looked_. They _noticed._

It made her sick that puberty and tamed hair was all it took. It didn't matter how smart or skilled or magically advanced she was to everyone else. But it mattered to her, so she didn't let up.

Everything was building up inside, and Hermione knew this. She was patient. She tried. She was a good friend to Harry and Ron, but there was never any semblance of true appreciation or understanding of how valuable she was.

Hermoine was about ready to give up on the concept of worth, honestly, until the day she received an owl from the last person she ever expected one from.

When the letter was dropped into her lap, she practically jumped out of her seat in shock. Her cheeks heated rapidly, but Ron and Harry didn't even notice. She exhaled in relief and disappointment at the same time.

It was a simple, average looking letter.

"You've got a letter", Ron said, looking down at it as if there was nothing peculiar about it.

Hermione rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Yes", she responded dryly.

"Who's it from?", Ron asked curiously, eyes moving back and forth between Hermione and the letter.

"Ron, you're looking right at it", she said, squinting her eyes at him. _Why am I still surprised by how daft he can be?_

"Yea, but it doesn't have anything written on the outside, _Hermione_ ", Ron said with a huff, his voice dripping with attitude. He turned away in annoyance.

"My mum's letters come unlabeled since it's a difficult process to get muggle mail here", Hermione mumbled before flinging her bag over her shoulder and rushing to the bathroom with the letter in hand.

She double-checked that the bathroom was empty and locked the door before pulling the letter out and staring at it in disbelief. _I'm dreaming. Hallucinating. Yes, that's it. One of those. This wouldn't be happening. Why couldn't Ron see the writing?_

The blood-red letters on the manilla-colored envelope in her hands seemed to burn into her irises. They felt threatening. Practically screamed, "don't open me". But how could she not.

After all, it's not every day you get a letter from Lord Voldemort himself.


	3. obstacles, 'goodnight's, & apparation

Everyone knew he was back. Voldemort. Some questioned it, but everyone had heard about it by the time they returned to Hogwarts for their fifth year.

Hermione couldn’t understand why some found this so difficult to believe, but she blamed ignorance. After all, Cedric Diggory’s body had appeared pale and lifeless before the entire school only months ago, along with Harry sobbing over him.

It was gruesome to say the least, and a terribly painful loss for most. Even the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students were shaken up from it. The fear it incited was contagious, and yet, many refused to believe Voldemort could be back.

_Incredibly foolish. What else could explain Cedric’s death? Harry wouldn’t lie about that sort of thing._

She believed wholeheartedly that Voldemort was back. Although, it was less about her trust in Harry and more about a logical conclusion and realistic evaluation of the possibilities.

Voldemort was known as the most powerful dark wizard in history. He managed to appear to Harry back in first year via the back of Professor Quirrell’s head. Why was it so incredulous a concept that he had managed to create a new body for himself?

So no, it wasn’t a shock or difficulty for Hermione that Voldemort was back. She practically predicted it after Tom Riddle managed to manifest himself in year two. If anything, the situation was not only realistic, but highly probable.

But that did nothing to ease the anxiety that climbed Hermione’s spine and spread beneath her skin. She was trembling, and certain that her breathing could be heard from a mile away.

The longer she stared at the letter without opening, the feeling grew worse. Hermione was impatient as it was, but fear collided with that trait, and she was frozen in place.

Her cheek was already raw from the vicious tearing at it she had done the entire walk to the girl’s loo. She shut her eyes and carefully pressed a fingernail underneath the fold of the envelope and broke the seal open.

With a heavy exhale, she opened her eyes to analyze the parchment, which was covered in red ink just as the outside had been. Something told her that no one would be able to read it anyway. Ron hadn’t even been able to read the outside of it, but Hermione couldn’t recall ever reading about a charm that could do such a thing. She made a mental note to research it later in the library - _most likely the restricted section._

After calming herself as much as she felt possible, she bit the bullet and began to read.

_Miss Granger,_

_I’m certain my letter will reach you as a surprise, but rest assured the contents are meant for you. No one but you will be able to read it, but pay close attention. It will demolish itself once you have finished it._

_You are a valuable asset in the endeavors I seek to accomplish. As the brightest witch of your age, I’m sure this statement requires no elaboration._

_On Wednesday at 11pm, one of my followers will receive and transport you to an undisclosed location. Once there, you will be more than welcome to ask any question your curious mind seeks answers to._

_DL_

Dark Lord. _The_ Dark Lord.

Hermione’s stomach was churning at this point and her dinner threatened an escape. It was Monday. In two days time, a Death Eater would be coming to take her away. Would she be permanently there? Would she be taken back to Hogwarts? Was it only kidnapping if she went willingly?

She scoffed at herself. _Willingly. As if there’s a choice._ _He’ll probably use legilimency on me to obtain information. On the Order of the Phoenix. On Harry. Then kill me._

She supposed things could be worse. After all, she was a muggleborn. Voldemort likely saw her as a pile of dirt simply in the way of a gold mine. _I’m an obstacle and a path all at once._

<>

Tuesday and Wednesday were painfully slow-going. Hermione thought they would never end, and for once, she couldn’t even focus on her schoolwork. Harry and Ron only noticed because it was in the way of her completing their homework.

“You all right, ‘Mione?”, Ron had asked, guiltily trying to conceal the true reason behind his curiosity. Not her wellbeing.

“You do look a bit tired, have you been sleeping?”, Harry added before she had the chance to respond.

They didn’t want answers to these questions. They wanted her to say “ _yes_ , I’m fine and _yes_ , I can do your homework”. But she refused this time.

“Actually, I haven’t been sleeping very well at all. I’m going to head to bed now, in fact”, she responded before glancing at the clock, taking note that it was a bit past 9pm, and gathering her books.

The boys mumbled half-hearted ‘goodnight’s as Hermione walked up the stairs and away from the common room. She didn’t bother responding. The boys didn’t seem to notice or care anyway.

Luckily, all of her roommates were either already asleep or not in the dorm when she got there. Hermione proceeded to lay in bed for a full two hours before the horror struck her that she wasn’t sure if she was meant to go somewhere else.

What if she was seen leaving Hogwarts with a Death Eater? _No, Voldemort is arrogant, but not stupid. If he needed me to meet the Death Eater somewhere, he would’ve said in the letter. I’m sure of it._

It wasn’t until a bit past 11pm that a light knock came at her door.

Her heart rate skyrocketed and she shot to her feet instantly. She made her way to the door on shaky legs and opened it just to find Lavender Brown. She tried her hardest not to scowl at the girl.

“Um...hello Hermione. Draco is looking for you”, the girl told her.

Hermione’s brows practically flew off her face, “Malfoy?”

“Pretty sure that’s the only ‘Draco’ at Hogwarts, yes”, Lavender said in an attitude-laced tone.

Hermione clenched and unclenched her fists before rolling her eyes and sighing deeply. “Right. Why?”, she asked Lavender.

“How the hell should I bloody know? He said something about Umbridge but I started walking away before he could finish. I really don’t care what it is. I just want him out of the entrance of the Gryffindor common room. I mean really-”, Lavender rambled until Hermione cut the girl off, unable to take it anymore.

“Got it, thanks”, she said dryly before pushing past the girl and making her way downstairs. _Draco Malfoy? Of all time he could be screwing with me, this is not it. Not it at all._

The common room was mostly empty at that hour on a Wednesday, so luckily she pushed through the portrait hole and outside Gryffindor tower without having to face anyone.

Her eyes met his after the portrait shut behind her and there was a painful pause. Silver and blue and swimming with a facade like she had never seen anyone maintain in the way Draco Malfoy could. From the very first day she saw him, she could never forget those eyes.

It felt as if an hour passed before Draco turned and began to walk away.

“You’ve got to be joking”, Hermione said in frustration, huffing and crossing her arms.

He turned to glance over his shoulder slightly but didn’t stop walking. “Granger, are you coming or not? I’d prefer not to force you, but I’ve been given instructions to do so if necessary”, he told her.

Her veins ran cold. Harry had told her before that Lucius was a Death Eater. It made sense. There was nothing to refute it. But was Draco too? They were only 15. Surely not…

She quickly jogged to catch up with him, struggling to keep pace with his long strides. He had grown quite a bit over the summer, but she hadn’t truly paid attention before then. He had to look down at her, but he didn’t let himself look very much in the first place.

“You? You’re...I mean”, Hermione couldn’t place the words. Couldn’t pose the question.

“Yes, surprise. Although I’m sure it isn’t much of one. Now please, at least try to keep up”, he said coldly and continued his ridiculous speed walking.

Hermione rolled her eyes but kept up with his pace all the same. The entire situation was puzzling. She felt weirdly at ease with the fact that Lucius Malfoy or any other Death Eater would not be taking her to see Voldemort, but she still despised Draco. If anything, she hated feeling any semblance of relief because of him.

_It’s not because it’s him. It’s because it’s not someone else more experienced. Someone who’s killed people._

He led her all the way into the forbidden forest before wrapping his long fingers firmly around her arm. Before she could ask any questions or throw any angry insults, it felt as if she were being sucked into a tube and spit out forcefully.

When they apparated to the location, she dropped to her knees and felt her stomach lurch. Draco simply wiped off his robes and rolled his eyes at her.

_Where and when the hell did he learn to apparate?_

She almost asked, but he began to walk away. Hermione practically fell over trying to get up and follow him. She had no clue where she was, but there was no way in hell she was going to be left alone.

She supposed the company of Draco Malfoy couldn’t be worse than no company at all in a Death Eater den.


	4. ch. 4: manors, marks, & augury

Their footsteps echoed loudly through the halls as they made their way through. Aside from that, it was painfully silent. Hermione’s ears were still ringing from the apparition and Draco didn’t appear to have any concern for her or allowing her to keep up with his long strides. Not that she cared anyway. She’d Avada him on the spot out of pure dislike if she could.

When he finally slowed, her attention was drawn from the endless portraits of blonde-haired, pale-eyed Malfoy men that lined the walls. Draco glanced over his shoulder at her for only a moment before reaching for the large, mahogany double-doors and pushing them open softly.

Malfoy Manor. There was no doubt at that point. Even if the portraits hadn’t given it away, the ridiculous amount of expensive decor and grim design of the home itself was enough.

Much to Hermione’s surprise, Draco stepped back and gestured for Hermione to enter first, which she was certain wasn’t any sort of pleasantry. It was to ensure she had no way out. Not that she planned on running anyway, it wasn’t an option.

She raised an eyebrow in scrutiny before stepping forward and taking the room into sight. Draco rolled his eyes in a much more deliberate way than necessary, as if his usual scowl wouldn’t have been enough to portray his blatant distaste for her. The feeling was mutual.

There was a long, inky table spanning the room, of which Voldemort was seated in the center facing the doors rather than at the head of the table. The scene had all the workings of a sadistic ‘Last Supper’. Oh the irony. The wizard truly did see himself as a savior of sorts, didn’t he? Doing what was right for the people? A Lord. _The_ Lord. At least he admitted he was a Dark one at that. Hermione fought the urge to laugh off her nervousness at the sight, immediately thinking better of it.

Voldemort rose from his chair, bringing his arms out to the sides in welcome and his followers immediately did the same with an almost chaotic scraping of chairs.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood out sorely a few seats down from Voldemort, their almost luminous hair glowing in the low light. Lucius wore a scowl identical to his son’s but Narcissa looked more reserved. Hesitant even.

“Ah, Miss Granger. I trust your journey here was without conflict?”, the snake-faced man asked with a malicious tilt of his head.

“Well apart from Malfoy’s horrific apparition skills, sure, it was smooth sailing”, Hermione responded with a grimace, causing Draco to scoff audibly behind her.

She rolled her eyes and Voldemort laughed. Heavily. A disgusting, leprose, high-pitched laugh. The entire table hesitantly looked his way in surprise.

When the noise ceased, Voldemort flashed a set of rotten, half-formed teeth at Hermione in what she supposed was meant to be a smile.

“I knew you had potential”, he said to her, his tone going dark like the flip of a coin.

Hermione fought the urge to shiver at his words.

“You see, my dear, young witch”, Voldemort continued, “I’ve seen the flash of dark you keep hidden beneath, as well as the capability to be more. _Much_ more.”

Hermione took a deep breath, her chest rising up and down with nervousness, and she steadied her hands by holding them together behind her back.

“I don’t entirely...understand what it is you want from me”, she finally responded, feeling as if she were sliding into a pit of snakes as the eyes of every Death Eater landed on her.

Voldemort nodded slightly, a glimmer of mischief in his eye, “Miss Granger, how do you feel about your... _friends_?”

Her heart stopped and threatened to explode. But then, she felt the anger and resentment inside spreading. “I’m sure I don’t know what you-”, she began but Voldemort silenced her by raising a hand.

“You do. And that’s why you’re here. That’s why you didn’t put up any fight. Because though they claim outwardly and to your face that they’re your friends...”, he paused expectantly.

She sighed before finishing for him, “They’re not.”

“You should hear the things they say about you in confidence to one another”, he smirked viciously.

Hermione gritted her teeth together, “I’m aware. I’ve heard more than I’d care to as it is”, she clarified.

“While I regret the way you’ve been treated, I can assure you it won’t be that way here”, he said, gesturing around the room, despite the countless loathsome glares she received.

“But I’m a mudblood”, she responded simply, and her stomach lurched when the entire room laughed jovially at her words.

Voldemort silenced them quickly without pause, “While that is _unfortunate_ , it doesn’t negate your potential, nor the fact that you are nothing less of an asset to me. You are, after all, the brightest witch of your age. Highest marks in your year if I’m not mistaken?”

Hermione nodded softly, but couldn’t help but notice when Lucius glared at Draco where he still stood behind her.

“So, you want me to...what? Be a spy? A double-agent of sorts?”, she asked, crossing her arms skeptically with her slight boost in confidence. He needed her. _Voldemort_ needed _her_. And unlike everyone she knew, he was acknowledging her for her talents, her skillset, her intelligence, her _potential_. Oh yes, she liked that word.

“All of those things and more. I need a right-hand... _witch_. An _apprentice_. I believe you are much more than meets the eye, Hermione Granger, and I plan to see it for myself”, he said with another tug of his thin, pale lips.

Her mouth instantly went dry. _Voldemort’s apprentice? There would be so much to learn..._

She took a few hesitant steps forward as Voldemort extended his left arm to her. A piece of her tugged, doubting her friends. Doubting Voldemort. Doubting herself. Doubting everything - even her surroundings and consciousness. The entire thing was insane. But so was Voldemort, so how could she be surprised?

She raised her left arm in response, allowing him to take hold of it and pressing his icy, grey forearm against hers. There was barely a moment before her skin began to burn viciously, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched. Something irreversible. Something unnatural. She bit her cheek until it bled just to avoid screaming out in pain.

When Voldemort finally pulled his arm away, she felt dizzy and unsteady on her feet. She glanced down hesitantly at her arm to find it. The Dark Mark. On her. The snake moved slightly as if chuckling at her, at her decision. It was still scalding to touch, as if Voldemort had pressed a branding iron into the tender flesh there.

But then, something new swirled inside her. Something heavy and dark. Something... _stronger._ And she liked it. She felt powerful, and dare she say in-tune with the Dark Lord himself. Her eyes were unfocused now and the corners of her lips perked up. The rest of the table looked almost fearful, and she even caught sight of Draco looking rather uneasy.

She met the Dark Lord’s searing gaze, who matched the grin Hermione wore.

Things would be different now. She knew it. She was on the winning side. She was tired of being the most talented player on a losing, uncoordinated, foolish team. No more.

Tonight, she would go back to her little dorm in Hogwarts as a different witch than she left as. She would be returning stronger. Bolder. As a winner. She was a mudblood, and yet, she would be returning as a _Death Eater._

<>

Her mind swam with possibilities in the following days. With fear. With excitement. With pride. She wasn’t even sure what to expect, but there was a confidence that emanated from Hermione that she hadn’t held before. And she was determined to keep it, even if that meant pretending to be on the Order’s side.

Draco however, was at a complete and utter loss. She hadn’t said a single word to him the entire trip back to Hogwarts. Not that it was a terribly long trek, and he hadn’t said a word to her either. But still, it was like an instant change. Like her hopes had transformed to endeavors. Her fears into inconveniences or hills to climb rather than mountains.

Voldemort had effectively taken a lion cub and coaxed it into the leader of a pride. Hermione was now a weapon. She was a snake in the Order’s grass, and they would never see her coming. Would she strike? Was there a plan for her to strike?

The Dark Lord had sent everyone out and put up wards so that he could speak privately with Hermione. Everyone was completely silent in the hall for the entire hour. No one moved or even breathed. Nothing but arrogant, self-serving Death Eaters shoved up against each other trying to hear what was happening. As if they could hear through a silencing spell. Pathetic.

Draco had always been clever. He was book smart too, but not quite enough to match Hermione at Hogwarts, which his father had spared no shame for when it was brought up. He had heard the “a mudblood should never do better than you” speech more times than he could keep track of.

But one thing he truly couldn’t get past was Hermione receiving the mark. He had received the Dark Mark himself, but only within the past month. His first real task was transporting Hermione to and from Hogwarts that night, if it could even be considered one. No other Death Eater had wanted to “lay a finger” on the mudblood, which was necessary to apparate her anywhere, and so the task was thrust upon Draco.

He was new to apparating, that was true, and he wasn’t legally supposed to be doing so. But working for the Dark Lord had its work-arounds. Draco was certain Hermione couldn’t apparate, and the gall she had to critique his apparition technique was infuriating.

 _She_ was infuriating. And beautiful. And intelligent. And now, the Dark Lord’s apprentice. And he hated her.

What did that even mean? _Apprentice?_

It had to be simply for the sake of convincing her to be entirely willing and compliant with Voldemort’s orders. She needed to feel important - more than just a luge for information. Yes, that was it.

After all, why would the Dark Lord need an apprentice? Sure, he hadn’t said “successor”, but that term felt more in line with Draco’s sense of the situation. He was rather talented when it came to divination studies - his one subject that he could and would always best Hermione at. But that wasn't his only skill that contributed to his feelings around the situation.

From a young age, Draco felt strong premonitions about things. Situations. Words. Feelings. Anything and everything. He inherited it from his mother, who, unbeknownst to Lucius, nurtured that gift with Draco in secret.

“You’re an Augurium”, Narcissa had told him on his fifth birthday. The gift ran in the black family, but only passed to one sibling per generation. Her mother, Druella Black had been one, then Narcissa, then Draco.

Narcissa had lost her powers of Augury after her miscarriage - what could have been Draco’s older sister. It felt like a piece of her soul had been taken, so she was overjoyed to find that Draco had received the gift. All was not lost. And so, she ensured that Draco was well in-tune with his Augury.

Various translations described it as meaning “divination”, and “interpretation of omens”, but those were in cultures and societies that weren’t aware of magic.

In the wizarding world, it meant more than having visions of the future and reading tea leaves. Much more. It was a rare and valuable gift. So valuable that those discovered to carry it would often be kidnapped and sold, but being pureblood left Narcissa and her Augurium relatives safe.

And even on the other side of the door from the Dark Lord and Hermione, something didn’t feel right.

Draco tried his best to ignore it, but Augury premonitions weren’t something that could be disregarded. Nonetheless, he tried.

Voldemort was evil. That was no secret. It was as widely-known as the name of Merlin. So why did he get the feeling now that something else was amiss?

As much as Draco hated Hermione, and the situation, and how he felt, he lingered outside the Gryffindor portrait for longer than he’d care to admit.

Something was wrong. He felt every step she took away from him on the other side of the painting, because the baleful sense that surged through his veins lessened as she did so.

Voldemort had something in the works. He wasn’t sure what it was. All he knew was that Hermione Granger was now involved, and he had delivered her straight to the snake’s nest for consumption.


End file.
